


In My Hands

by secondalto



Series: Written in Flesh and Blood [4]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Minor Character Death, Nick Fury Lies, Nick Fury is a Bastard, Platonic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, The Author Regrets Nothing, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 08:43:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1892574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondalto/pseuds/secondalto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil pledges himself to SHIELD. Will finding his soul mate change that?</p>
            </blockquote>





	In My Hands

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks as always to Rainne. She asks all the right questions.
> 
> If you know about Agents of SHIELD, you know the death warned for above doesn't stick. I'm playing with AoS canon and speculating on future events. I fully expect to be Jossed. 
> 
> I was hoping that this would be shorter. Phil and Clint had other ideas.

Phillip Coulson is a complicated young man. He asks his mom to send him military school because he knows it will both offer him the best education and give him a sense of family. He loves his mother and knows she does her best, but he feels like he needs more.

He excels in everything. He learns to hide his physical capabilities under a bland exterior. You have a better advantage if your enemy underestimates you. But where he really excels is strategy. So when it comes to the senior year mock battle, no one even thinks of Phil Coulson.

The object is to be the last person standing. They use laser tag-like vests that register a ‘death’. They are guaranteed to be hack proof, coming from a subsidiary of Stark Industries. Phil voids the guarantee. He is sneaky, observant and wins by never firing a shot. The administration is impressed to say the least. So when he’s called to the office the next day he isn’t sure what to expect.

“Cadet Coulson, at ease,” the colonel says when Phil salutes. There is someone else in the office; a man in a trench coat wearing an eye patch.

“Can I ask what this is about, sir?” he says, coming to parade rest.

“You can Cadet,” the man says. “But I don’t think it will matter in the end. How old are you, Coulson?”

“Seventeen sir.”

“So you don’t have a mark yet?” he asks. Phil really wants to know what that has to do with anything.

He shakes his head. “No, sir.”

“That was quite a win yesterday, Coulson. Impressive enough that Colonel Anderson here brought it to my attention.”

“Thank you, sir.” The shift in conversation throws him for a loop. But he betrays nothing, keeping his face passive.

“I’m looking for men like you, Coulson. Men who can think on their feet, who don’t look threatening. It’s an asset in my field.”

“What field is that, sir?”

“You ever hear of SHIELD?” The man is directly in front of him now.

“Yes, sir.” He wants to ask so many questions.

“But you have no idea what we do,” the man says, turning and walking back to lean against the Colonel’s desk. “I should probably introduce myself. Nicholas Fury, Director of SHIELD.  I need men who are loyal, who will do the job no matter what. Are you one of those men, Coulson?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Even when and if you get your mark? You will put your job, your duty, your country before a soul mate?”

“Yes, sir, Director Fury, sir!”

Fury smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes and it makes Phil’s blood run a little cold.

“Then welcome to SHIELD, Coulson.”

*~*~*~*~*~*

Phil gets his mark four months before his twenty-fourth birthday while facing off against a particularly nasty bunch of paramilitary rebels in Chechnya. They have possession of an 0-8-4 and are fighting tooth and nail to keep it. Phil had always heard stories about how getting the mark hurt. But all he could feel was akin to someone scraping a pen across his skin. Maybe it was the adrenaline. He shrugged it off and shot off two rounds.

Hours later, after debriefing, he’s on a plane home. His tired brain reminds him that something other than a firefight happened out there, so he drags himself to the bathroom. His soul mate must have turned eighteen, he guesses. Unless they are older and lost their previous one. Either way, he’s curious to see the name. He shucks the suit jacket and slowly unbuttons the shirt.

His mark is written along the bone ridge of his right clavicle. In purple. Phil chuckles softly. He has a theory that the color of a mark has something to do with the soul mates personality. His must be something else. He looks again, to read the name that is inscribed on his skin: _Clint Barton_. He hopes Clint won’t mind that Phil is married to his job first.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When the name _Phil Coulson_ appears in dark green scattered across the fingers of his bow hand, Clint laughs. It’s not because his soul mate is a man; Clint’s sexuality has always been very… fluid. It’s because of who showed up to last night’s performance: men in dark suits who said they were from Special Ops. They want to recruit him. A person’s sexuality isn’t a big deal anymore, but the military industrial complex is still languishing in the dark ages. He wonders what they’ll have to say to him when they see his mark.

The Major takes one look at the name and then looks Clint right in the eye.

“We going to have a problem son?”

“Unless you make it one, no sir,” he responds, lazily waxing his bow.

The Major nods and the captain behind him brings forward his briefcase. Ten minutes later Clint Barton is officially a member of Special Ops, though he can’t tell anyone. He gets the rest of the week to get his affairs in order. He will say goodbye to his makeshift circus family to venture out into the world. The biggest thing he thinks about is how long it will be before he gets to meet Phil.

*~*~*~*~*~*

There are anecdotal stories of soul marks partially or completely fading. When soul mates meet, the person whose name faded tells the other of experiencing an accident or other traumatic experience that had them near death. Historians have been unable to prove any of these stories.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

When Clint is nineteen, the “Ph” on his thumb and the “son” on his pinky fade. It happens so fast that he thinks he’s dreaming it.

It happens again when he’s twenty-one - all of the first name dimming to a lighter green for several hours before returning to the original color. None of his squad can explain. Neither can the internet. Clint tucks the information in the back of his mind, remembering the date to ask Phil about it when they finally meet.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

In 1996, Fury sends Phil to Fort Benning to see someone he thinks will be an asset to SHIELD. Nick is being very cryptic and won’t tell Phil anything other than “You’ll know him when you see him.”

Benning is Army fort and the person Phil is looking for is a part of their Special Ops division. SHIELD has plenty of military ties so Phil got on base without a problem. He does however, have a problem with finding who he is looking for. He starts out in the classrooms, then moves to the gym, and then the cafeteria. He finally makes his way to the target range. There are plenty of men who could qualify, but SHIELD has its share of sharpshooters. It’s not until he crests a hill that he see it; a target out in a field. It’s at least six hundred feet from the sidewalk and standing there is a soldier with a bow. Phil stands and watches. The man lets an arrow loose. Phil doesn’t see it fly through the air, but he turns his head to look at the target. The arrow hits with a thunk, right in the middle.

This is who Phil is here for.

He makes his way around the bottom of the hill, coming up behind the soldier. The other man doesn’t acknowledge him, just keeps shooting. Phil admires the man’s arms; they are well defined as they should be for an archer. He briefly wonders about calluses. Then the other man makes several shots in a row, all bunched up in the center. Phil doesn’t think any more arrows will fit in there.

“Is this leading up to one of those Robin Hood moments where you split the arrow in two?” he asks casually.

The man, a Gunnery Sergeant according to his insignia, snorts. “Trickery, movie magic. I’m good, but that is impossible, even with the kind of arrows and bows out there now,” he replies.

“You’re not using a compound,” Phil comments. He has questions, plenty of questions. But this is first in his mind. He doesn’t know much about archery, but this seems like an easy one to start with.

“Prefer the recurve, or old fashioned wood. But those don’t hold up well to gunfire. Is there something I can help you with, sir?” The sergeant begins to pack up the bow and Phil can see the writing across the fingers of his right hand. It’s an interesting place to have the mark, out there for the world to see.

“I’m from SHIELD. We’re looking for people with… unusual skills.”

“I guess I’d qualify,” the sergeant says. Phil notices his blue eyes first, piercing and open. Then the pug nose that makes it look like the Sergeant has been in a few fights. “You want me to sign up, Agent…?”

“Coulson, Phil Coulson.”

The man seems to stiffen for a moment before doubling over and bursting into laughter. Phil stands there confused. He’s pretty sure he wrinkles his brow, but the Sergeant doesn’t see it. The man stands, wiping his eyes. He offers Phil his hand, his right hand, knuckles up. “Clint Barton. I think the pleasure is mine.”

Phil takes the hand, glancing at the mark there. It is his name, in a dark green. Phil curses Fury to hell and back. He thinks of that first meeting, back at school. What he’d promised Fury. Barton is standing in front of him, smiling - an action that heats Phil’s blood - and Phil wonders how much his statement will be tested now.

*~*~*~*~**~*

Clint takes the Agent, Phil, to dinner. In his mind he’s already calling it a first date. The local pizza place is busy, but not crowded. It’s two for one beer night and the karaoke machine is running hot. Clint watches as Phil takes it all in, face betraying nothing. There are a lot of things he wants to ask, but they’ll save for after they’ve had a brew. Clint wants to know everything about the man in the suit.

Clint nods at Bonnie, who shouts, “The usual?”

“And I’ll take the special,” he shouts back, winding his way to his usual table. It’s in the back, against the wall. He sits, nodding to Phil to follow suit. Phil loosens his tie, and takes off his jacket before sitting down. Phil looks around, before turning to Clint with a small smile. Clint thinks it makes him look more approachable.

“Great vantage points.”

“And access to at least four exits,” Clint says with a grin. “Hope you like spicy. I usually get wings with my pie.”

“I can handle hot,” Phil states blandly, but Clint can see the twitch of his mouth.  He thinks about what other expressions Phil is hiding under the bland SHIELD exterior. “Can I ask where you learned to shoot? That shot was… extraordinary.”

Clint stares as Bonnie comes by with a pitcher and the wings. He waits while she pours the first mug. He hefts it up in a toast. “To meeting.” Phil clinks and they both sip. Clint wipes the foam from his lip with the back of his hand. “You didn’t read my file?”

“I didn’t have any file. I suspect my supervisor is testing me. He told me I would know who I was looking for when I found him,” Phil grimaced, taking a wing. “I think he might know about your mark.”

“It’s not like it’s a secret. Comes with it being written on my hand. Can I ask about…?”He gestures, sure that Phil will know what he’s talking about.

Phil wipes his hands on a napkin, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt. He pulls it open, revealing the first few letters of Clint’s name before buttoning up again. Clint is fascinated by Phil’s hands. He also notes that the mark is purple; he doesn’t think he’s ever seen a purple mark before.

“Ouch, right on the bone ridge,” Clint winces.

“I didn’t notice it at the time. I was… on an op.”

“I do have another question. Well two really.” Clint leans forward.  He’s been waiting a long time to ask about this. “Did anything happen to you in ’90 and then again in ’92? Like, life-threatening anything?”

Phil leans back, sipping his beer, as he thinks. “Back in’90, I was in Sacramento. I got hit by… I got hit. I was out for a few hours, but I recovered. And in ’92? Istanbul, sniper clipped me, lost a lot of blood, but as you can see, I’m fine. Why?”

“My mark. Both times parts of it faded. Thought I was dreaming the first time. Makes sense now.” He sits back. Knowing that your soul mate has twice been close to death is something that he needs to process. He breathes in the atmosphere of the bar, hoping it will calm him down.

The crowd around them applauds as a tall blonde woman finishes singing “Vision of Love”. Clint chews and swallows the wing he’s been eating. He nods to the machine, one eyebrow raised in question.

“God, no,” Phil said. “I don’t… no.” Phil holds up his hands, shaking his head vigorously.

“C’mon, it’ll pass the time. By the time we’re done, pie’ll be here,” Clint cajoles. He makes the best puppy dog eyes he knows how.

“No, Barton….”

“Clint,” he says. Then he takes one of Phil’s hands, runs a thumb over the back of it. “It’s just Clint since we’re… you know. I’ll go first, then you. I’ll even pick something out for you. It’ll be fun.”

“Fine, but no hair metal or rap,” Phil sighs. Clint lets go of Phil’s hand and scoots back to stand up.

“Got it,” Clint says. He bounds over to the machine, talking to the operator. He watches as Phil gulps down the last of the beer in his mug and walks over to the edge of the stage. Clint takes the mic and steps up to the machine. The opening bars of the song waft out and he sees Phil shake his head before putting his hand over his face. “Look into my eyes – you will see,” Clint croons.

When he’s done he’s grinning from ear to ear. He jumps down, going over and pulling Phil right to the stage.

“Please tell me the song you picked for me isn’t as corny as that,” Phil begs.

“I promise nothing.” Clint pushes him to the stage. Phil takes the mic and then glares at Clint when his song begins.

“There’s a man who leads a life of danger.” The crowd goes wild, singing along. Clint just laughs and watches Phil. He’s really beginning to like this man who is his soul mate. He thinks things could really be interesting from now on. He knows he’s definitely signing up with SHIELD, especially if he gets to spend more time with Phil.

*~*~*~*~*~*~

Phil isn’t sure what to feel when Clint agrees work for SHIELD. Phil makes sure he’s assigned to someone else, which is easy. Clint’s specialty is surveillance and intelligence with target acquisition when needed. Phil’s skill set is a little more wide-ranged. This doesn’t mean they don’t work together. And that they don’t explore their relationship. There have been heavy make-out sessions and one spectacular night where they exchanged blow jobs. But there’s not been time or occasion for more.

They share a meal after a particularly rough mission. Clint has been with SHIELD for a year now and this is the first time he’s had to use deadly force while under SHIELD’s purview. After debriefing, Phil offers him food, taking Clint back to his apartment. Phil makes spaghetti, watching as Clint tries to shake off the events of the day. Phil shouldn’t be this invested. Clint wanders around, noting Phil’s collectables. He’s got a large collection of Captain America memorabilia he’s quite proud of. He speaks up before Clint tries to poke at his first issue of the comic, mounted in a frame on the wall.

“The shot you made, the one that took out the sentry, it should have been impossible,” Phil says, adding sauce to the noodles and checking on the garlic bread.

Clint gives him a wry grin. “Not if you know the math.”

Phil stops stirring for a moment. Clint is saying he performed higher function calculations _in his head_ in seconds in order to make that shot. Smart is always sexy and when combined with a body like Clint’s? “Do you know how hot that is?” he blurts, plating up the noodles and setting them on the table before grabbing the bread.

“You saying I’m getting laid tonight?” Clint sits down at the table, waggling an eyebrow. “And we haven’t even been out on a third date, Phil. How very caveman of you.”

Phil just answers by kissing Clint, hard and fast, leaving Clint breathless. Clint kisses back, making Phil wish he didn’t need to talk to Clint.  “There’s something you should know.”

“I want you to be able to tell me everything, Phil. If you want this - us- to happen, I want us to be open and honest,” Clint says. He looks at Phil, open and honest. Phil knows that he’s falling down the rabbit hole of love. He braces himself for the journey.

“I made a commitment. When Fury recruited me, he asked if I was willing to put my job, my country before anything and everything else, even a soul mate. And I was. Until you.” Until this smartass archer who unabashedly sings clichéd love songs at karaoke showed him that something might be equal to, or greater than his promise.

“Phil, look,” Clint tries to say, but Phil holds up a hand.

“I like you, Clint. And you’re right, I want this – us – to happen. But if comes to choosing the safety of the world over you….” It tears at Phil inside to know that this is true. But he didn’t make a promise just to Fury, he made it to the citizens of Earth when he joined SHIELD.

Clint takes his hand and squeezes it. “I’d make the same call.”

“Good,” Phil nods, dishing up some spaghetti. “Now eat up, you’re gonna need the carbs before the night is over.”

Clint grins, tearing off some bread and digging in. Phil tries not to hurry through the meal. He fails.

*~*~*~*~*~*

The marks of platonic soul mates are vastly different from those of romantic/sexual ones. While romantic/sexual marks come in a variety of colors, the platonic mark is gold. It still acts like the romantic/sexual mark by appearing generally on the arms and in a variety of shapes, but it does not appear on the eighteenth birthday or the eighteenth birthday of a platonic soul mate. Instead, it appears shortly before the soul mates meet. Times have been reported to vary from as little as a few hours to as much as six months.

While platonic marks are usually reserved for those who identify as aromantic, asexual, or demisexual, they can appear on people who already have a romantic/sexual soul mate or mates. Those instances are very rare, though chroniclers of the marks point out that given the ever changing nature of the soul mark, the occurrences of platonic marks on those who already have a romantic/sexual ones may become more common.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Clint is sitting in the briefing room, not really listening as Phil talks about the mission. Instead he’s focused on Phil, the way his suit is cut, the way he moves, betraying nothing. Clint knows that under that suit is a man of muscle and strength, a man with a dry wit and a wide smile. Clint swallows down the desire, trying to refocus. They’ve had three years together, and it’s still feels new. He sits up straighter, ready to pay attention when he feels it.

The memory of receiving Phil’s name across his fingers has mostly faded, but he hasn’t forgotten the pain. This time it’s on his upper right arm. He grits his teeth, feeling the sweat roll down his back and bead along his hairline. He clenches the arm of the chair, half afraid it’s going to come off in his hand. He can’t have another soul mate. He’d be ten years older than they are. He’s happy with just Phil. Then it’s gone. He mentally shakes himself before noticing that Phil is wrapping up the briefing. The team disperses, but Clint stays glued to the chair, fiddling with his folder. When they are alone, Phil is by his side, kneeling in front of him.

“Barton. Clint, focus, it’s me,” he says, taking the handkerchief from his pocket and wiping Clint’s brow. “What was that?”

Clint grabs for the glass of water on the table, gulping it down. He usually prefers short sleeves, but the room had been a tad on the chilly side, so he’d put on a hoodie. He puts down the glass and pulls the hoodie over his head. He hears Phil’s gasp, and tosses the piece of clothing aside. Then he looks at his arm. The gold script rolls down his bicep, gleaming under the lights of the room. Clint recognizes the writing as Cyrillic; it reads _Tasha Romanoff_.

“Seems I have a platonic out there somewhere. She’s Russian,” he says, running fingers over the name. “Hope you’re not the jealous type.”

Phil shakes his head with a smile. “Not if it is just platonic. If it was another romantic, I’d hope I would have gotten a similar mark.”

“I wonder who she is.” He lets Phil pull him from the chair, retrieving the hoodie. He doesn’t want anyone to know about the new mark, not when they’ll be leaving for a mission in a few days.

When they get to Istanbul, Clint is all work. They are after a dangerous former Soviet operative known only as the Black Widow. The order is to find her and eliminate her. Clint has lost all the bulky clothing from before, and he can see his team staring at his new mark. But Phil just glares at them, silencing them even though they haven’t said a word. Clint focuses on the job. He hopes to be done by dinner time; he has plans for Phil.

They set up near where the Black Widow had last been spotted. The team fans out, covering Clint. Phil is back on the plane, his voice in Clint’s ear. “She’s been known to frequent the coffee house, Hawkeye; that’s our best bet.”

“Copy that,” Clint says, looking over the square. He’d bristled at the code name of Hawkeye at first, but it’s grown on him. He sees a flash of red hair, spots her entering the shop from an alley. “Target in sight, waiting for the shot. Quiet on the comms.”

Clint pulls out the newest bow from SHIELD R&D. He’s had it for a few weeks now and it’s a vast improvement over some of the equipment he’s had to deal with over the years. He sets the arrow shaft into the quiver on his back, pressing a button at the bottom. He loves the idea of interchangeable tips. The one he chooses now is a plain one; he doesn’t need anything fancy. He settles in, slowing his breathing. He watches, waits. He’s never targeted a woman before, he wonders what the fallout from this will be like for him. But he knows that Phil will be there, no matter what. He sees her come out of the shop. He pulls back the string. Takes in a breath, ready to release.

She looks up at him, right at him.

Then she tosses the coffee, upending several chairs as she runs. Clint is up from his stance in an instant, tossing the bow aside, giving chase. “God fucking damn it, I’ve been made. Target is on the move, I’m in pursuit.”

“Be careful, Barton,” Phil says in his ear. “She’s not called the Black Widow for nothing. I’ve got the rest of the team controlling the situation at the shop.”

Clint doesn’t say anything as he follows her from the rooftops. He eventually has to jump down when she turns onto a narrow street. He runs, patting his breast pocket to double check that his knife is there. He dislikes hand to hand, but it seems that he has no choice. He nearly corners her. She continues running, shouting back to him.

“You are the Hawk,” she says, her accent light but noticeable.

“Yes,” he says, pulling his knife out. They turn another corner. Damn but she’s fast and he’s out of practice.

“The tales of your kills are well known. You are here for me, yes?”

“You betcha, sister.” Where did she learn to run like that? How in the fucking hell did she get so fast?

“You must catch me first,” she laughs.

But Clint will have the last laugh; the street dead ends. She turns, snarling, ready to fight. He’s on her, pinning her to the wall. She claws at him for a few moments and if this were any other time, he might be turned on.  She lifts her chin up, baring her throat. He presses the knife there, a bead of red forming near the tip.

“Do it, Hawk. I am your prey, you must kill me,” she growls.

“Why are you so eager to die?” he asks. He ignores Phil shouting in his ear. He reaches up and clicks the ear piece off. He’ll deal with the consequences later. He’s intrigued by this woman who is so willing to stop living.

“Because you have my name on your arm,” she spits. “I would rather die than be the mate of a man like you.”

He glances down, sees that the Cyrillic is now English. She is his platonic. But she doesn’t seem to know it.

“This?” he nods to the mark.  “I’m not your soul mate.”

“Bullshit, I know what the names mean. I will not be dictated to by a name. I will not be made weak by an emotion. I am my own person.”

He turns his hand so she can see the mark on his fingers.  She looks, the defiance still in her eyes. “This is my soul mate, Phil. Note the color.” She says nothing. “That,” he nods to her name. “Your name is in gold. It means platonic. Friends, not lovers. You don’t know about platonics?”

She shakes her head. “Nyet. I have never seen a mark like that,” she says, relaxing. “It is not romantic, or sexual?”

“No, it’s not,” he says, taking the knife away, moving back half a step. “Come with me. I can help you. We could use you in SHIELD.”

“I have killed many. This is why you were sent for me. Why would they let me live?”

“You have intel, insight. It’s a second chance. I know a guy who’s big on second chances.” In his head he hears Phil’s sigh of frustration and reluctance. “Come with me.”

She nods and he relaxes. He stays by her side as they make their way back to a rendezvous point. He’s going to catch hell from Phil. So much for his plans.

*~*~*~*~*~*

When Phil gets involved with Tony Stark, he finds that he doesn’t like the man very much. He’s too arrogant, too self-involved. But he does appreciate what Stark can bring to the table. Gaining Pepper Potts as a friend and confidante is a plus. He really wants to tear Stark apart for the whole press conference debacle.

When he’s telling all this to Clint later, over dinner, Clint just laughs. “So does this make Potts your fag hag?”

Phil sighs, rubbing at his temple. “She doesn’t know about you, I made something up.”

“I’m hurt, Phil,” he says, placing a hand over his heart. “Why would you do that?”

“Knowledge is power,” Phil replies, digging around a kitchen drawer for some aspirin. Clint comes up behind him, holding out a bottle. He takes it gratefully.

“Didn’t know you were a School House Rock fan, thought it’d be after your time.” Clint guides him back to the couch, sitting him down and then siting behind him. Clint begins to massage Phil’s head.

“I can appreciate the educational value. And the songs are catchy.”

“Mmmhhhmmm,” Clint hums. “So what did you tell her?”

“I said I was seeing a cellist,” Phil says, closing his eyes in relief as Clint works his way down to Phil’s shoulders.

“A cellist? Seriously?” Clint stops, leaning down to look at him. Phil opens his eyes and chuckles at the disbelief in his lovers’ eyes.

“Well, it’s close enough. Cellist, archer, you both use bows,” Phil shrugs.

Clint gently whaps him upside the head. “No sex for you.”

“Uh huh, sure.” Phil just lays back on the couch, sighing as Clint goes back to the massage.

Clint is sent out on missions, while Phil is helping Fury with a project that he wants to put together. He’s thrilled beyond words when the news comes that Captain America has been found. He wants to tell Clint so badly, but this is above his level. Clint is Level Six, where Phil is Seven. Instead he sends the usual “I miss you” messages through the one of the back channels they’ve established over the years.

Fury sends Clint in to help deal with the cluster fuck in New Mexico. Things are even more complicated by the fact that Foster and this Thor fellow are apparently soul mates. He is so far out of his depth - they all are - now that they know the human race is not alone. When all is said and done and Thor has disappeared back to wherever he came from, Phil has to deal with clean up. Clint drops by the mobile headquarters.

“Fury called me. I’m escorting Doctor Selvig to PEGASUS. He’s needed for something that was found out in the Atlantic.”

The Tesseract. Phil talked with the Director about it earlier. He’s staying behind for now to keep an eye on Foster and her work. “Keep in touch. I have to clean up here.”

“Of course,” Clint says. He looks around and steps in to give Phil a quick kiss. “Watch out for Lewis, she seems feisty.”

“Oh, I am.” Phil smiles and makes some notes in his files.

Clint squints at him, tilting his head. “I know that look. You want her for SHIELD.”

“She has skills we can use. Now go, before Fury sends a team looking for you. I’ll call you.”

Clint nods and leaves Phil to his work.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Clint is worried. The Tesseract has been giving off weird readings for a while now. He officially called Phil in a week ago. Phil called Fury in this morning. The entire base is under evacuation. He’s worried for Phil, but knows that he can handle himself. They both know that anything can happen at any time. It’s why they cherish their times together so much. He knows Fury will arrive soon, that he’ll have to deal with the Director directly. He doesn’t like Fury, not after everything Phil’s told him about the man. But Clint respects him and does follow orders. Mostly.

“Agent Barton, report.”

He’s seen Fury talking to Selvig. He rappels down from the catwalk, walking over to him.

“I gave you this detail so you could keep a close eye on things.”

Clint tries to keep his response from sounding flippant. “Well, I see things better from a distance.”

“Have you seen anything that might set this thing off?” Fury asks as they arrive to stand in front of the Tesseract. Clint crosses his arms and tries not to feel jumpy around something that is giving off the same kind of energy that turned a man into a rampaging monster. He’s not supposed to know about that.

“No one’s come or gone. Selvig’s clean. No contacts, no IMs. If there’s any tampering, sir, it’s not at this end.”

Fury gives him a look, like he wonders what the fuck Clint is talking about. “At this end?”

Clint blinks, taking a moment. Fury hasn’t put it together, hasn’t made the connection. He’s the director of SHIELD and he doesn’t know this? “Yeah, the cube is a doorway to the other end of space, right? Doors open from both sides.”

Before Fury can answer him, there is a surge of energy from the cube. They both back away, a tactical retreat as the energy gathers into a point of light. It spits out at the other end of the room, tearing a hole in space and depositing someone there. The man looks right at Clint, Fury and Selvig. He’s carrying some kind of weapon, a spear. Fury asks the man to put it down. Instead he just fires a bolt of energy from it. Clint pushes Fury out of the way, the energy shot from the spear barely missing both of them. Clint is up, shooting back, barely missing another shot as he dives to the side.

He tries to get up, pointing the gun towards the stranger, but he’s there, grabbing Clint’s hand. Clint gasps, wincing in pain. Then the man looks at him, eyes wild and crazy.

“You have heart,” he says, pointing the spear at Clint’s chest.

Clint’s thoughts go to Phil. He’s going to die. He never got to say goodbye. Then everything is pushed back, all conscious thought given over to the man with the spear.

*~*~*~*~*~

Phil’s trying to get everyone out of the facility quickly but safely when he feels the ground rock under him. He manages to keep his balance, but looks around, hurrying people along. He hears Fury yell over the comms about Clint. Clint is compromised. He takes a second, a flicker of a moment to worry, to have the emotional response before he puts his walls up. He needs to focus on what is going on.  He’s above ground, heading for a van with several other agents. They speed out of there. He hears the load roar of the Tesseract energy. They are several miles away before he feels the blast wave of the collapse. He can only hope that Clint is safe.

He meets Fury and Hill at the Helicarrier. There are hours and hours of debrief. When Phil is finally done, he takes a moment to go to a bathroom. He checks his collar bone, runs a finger down the ridge, where Clint’s name still shines out. He breathes a sigh of relief, Clint is still alive. He knows what he needs to do now. It’s what Fury said needed to be done next, but Phil would have done it regardless. He’s going to call Tasha. He knows she’ll want to know. He’s surprised when a man speaking Russian answers. He asks for Tasha but is passed off to someone else.

He looks down at computer screen. Of course he’s tracing the call, it’s standard procedure.

“Who the hell…?” the second voice asks, but Phil interrupts.

“You’re at 114 Solenski Plaza, third floor. We have an F22 exactly eight miles out. Put the woman on the phone or I will blow up the block before you can make the lobby.” He hears the passing of the phone and waits to hear Tasha’s breathing. “We need you to come in.”

“Are you kidding? I’m working!” she says. Phil can imagine the incredulous look on her face.

“This takes precedence.”

“I’m in the middle of an interrogation and this moron is giving me everything,” she sounds frustrated. “Look, you can’t pull me out of this right now.”

“Natasha. Barton’s been compromised,” he can’t help but let some emotion leak through as he tells her this. He knows she will do anything for Clint. He doesn’t completely understand their bond, but he knows that Tasha will do what he asks of her.

“Let me put you on hold.”

Phil hers the sounds of a fight and allows himself a miniscule smile. If Clint were here they’d both be speculating what she was doing and criticizing her form. After several minutes and he assumes the death or disabling of the bad guys she comes back on the line.

“Where’s Barton now?”

Phil relaxes a little. He knew this had been the right call. “We don’t know.”

“But he’s alive,” she says, the hope in her voice evident.

“ _We_ think so.” He emphasizes the first word, hoping that Tasha will understand the implication. “I’ll brief you on everything when you get back. But first, we need you to talk to the big guy.”

“Coulson, you know that Stark trusts me about as far as he can throw me,” she sighs.

Phil grins unconsciously. “No, I’ve got Stark. You get the big guy.”

“Боже мой.”

They hang up and he knows Tasha is mentally cursing him for this assignment. But he knows that she will do it because it will help them to find Clint. They are the only two people who care about that. Fury will be more focused on Loki, on the Tesseract. He takes some breaths, strengthens his emotional walls and orders a jet fueled. He needs to go to New York.

*~*~*~*~*~

He visits Stark and Pepper in the Tower, trying not to feel anything as he watches them together. He knows they are soul mates, but only because Pepper told him one night, he’s never put in the SHIELD files.  The heart ache creeps through, especially when Pepper goes to leave with him.

“I want to hear about the cellist,” she says, looping an arm through his. “Is that still a thing?”

He buries the worry and the heart ache deep. “She went back to Portland,” he replies.

When he meets Captain Rogers, it should be the greatest moment of his life. But all he can think about is how Clint isn’t here to tease him about it. He thinks because of this he comes off as a little stalkery to the Captain. Once on the Helicarrier he goes about the job. Nat manages to pull him aside for a moment to reassure him.

“We’ll find him, Phil. We’ll get him back, I promise,” she whispers into his ear, laying a comforting hand on his arm.

“Thank you, Tasha. I know you’ll do everything to keep that promise.”

When the blast hits the carrier, Phil is on the bridge. For a brief moment he allows himself to wonder if Clint is involved. But Fury is calling him over the comms, ordering him to check the detention section and then onto the armory. He follows orders. Not doing so could mean life or death for millions. When he gets to the armory, he picks out one of the prototypes they’d been working on since New Mexico. He makes his way down to the cage.

He sees Thor locked in the cage meant for the Hulk. Loki is outside of it, making for the control panel. Phil shoots the guard, watches him fall and then points the prototype weapon at Loki.

“Move away, please.” His voice is steady, but his heart is racing and his mind is whirling. Clint will kill him for doing this. Clint will yell so long and so loud even if he will understand the why of it. Loki backs away, hands out. “You like this?” Phil lifts the weapon. “We started work on the prototype after you sent the Destroyer. Even I don’t know what it does.” He shrugs a little, acting nonchalant, and the cool agent face in place. “Do you want to find out?”

Then there is pain. So much blinding pain and he can’t breathe. He looks down to see the tip of a spear poking from between his ribs. It hurts just as much coming out. Loki tosses him to the wall, the glamour at the control panel fading. Thor is screaming but Phil can’t make out the word. He sits there, gun in his lap and thinks of Clint. He wants to put a hand to the mark, but he can’t seem to move. He watches as Loki jettisons the cage. The mad god closes the hatch and starts to walk away. Phil gathers up his strength to say something.

“You’re gonna lose,” he croaks, his voice weak. He can hear Clint in his head telling Phil not to taunt the god.

Loki turns, his expression disdainful. “Am I?”

“It’s in your nature.” He feels his breath getting shallower. His can feel the blood pumping through his fingers.

“Your heroes are scattered, your floating fortress falls from the sky,” Loki steps closer, gesturing wildly. “Where is my disadvantage?”

“You lack conviction,” Phil states simply. He moves his hand to the trigger.

“I don’t think I….”

Phil fires, watching as Loki is blasted through the wall. He attempts a grin. “So that’s what it does.” He lies there, breathing his last breaths. Even if someone were to find him, he doubts that he will live. _I’m sorry, Clint._ Natasha will be there for Clint, she will help him through the loss. Maybe Clint will be one of the lucky ones to get a second soul mate. He spies Fury running for him. Then Fury kneels down, looks Phil over. “Sorry boss, the guy rabbited.”

“Just stay awake. EYES ON ME!” Fury insists.

“No,” Phil says, voice low. His heartbeats are slower, they’ve been slowing down for a while now. “I’m clocked out here.”

Fury glares at him. “Not an option.”

“It’s okay, boss.” He’s done what he needed to. He’s served his purpose. “This was never going to work… if they didn’t have something… to….” His heart beats its last. He thinks of Clint. Sees the face of his soul mate as everything fades to black.

*~*`*~*~*~*~

Clint has been silently railing against the control of the scepter deep in the back of his mind. He’s been screaming, banging against the walls to get out. He’s thinking about Phil, who must know by now what’s happened to him. He is gutted by what he is having to do. When he gets to the Helicarrier, he wonders if Phil is there, hopes that he isn’t.

When he has to fight Tasha, he prays for her to get the upper hand. They’ve been almost equally matched since she insisted he train with her. But she will always bring something out to surprise him. This time it’s bouncing his head off a railing. The pain radiates through him, but it’s also enough to break down the walls of the control. He shakes his head, trying to get up. He looks at her. “Tasha?” Then he gets her fist to his face.

When he comes to, he is sitting up on a bed, restrained. He can’t see anything, vision blurry. The residual effects of Loki are still there. He can kind of make out Tasha, sitting by the side of the bed.

“Clint, you’re gonna be alright,” she says, voice soft.

“You know that?” he asks, blinking and straining against the straps. “Is that what you know? I got… I gotta go in though. Need to flush him out.”

She stands, goes to get him water. “We don’t have that long, it’s gonna take time.”

“I don’t understand. Have you ever had someone take your brain and play?” He looks at her, needing her to hear him. “Pull you out and send something else in? Do you know what it’s like to be unmade?”

She looks back at him. “You know that I do.” He does, he’s heard the stories, seen her file.

“Why am I back? How did you get him out?” He desperately wants to ask about Phil, but he doesn’t know who might be watching, might be listening.

“Cognitive recalibration. I hit you really hard in the head.” She might not be smiling, but Clint can hear the humor in her voice. She sits back down on the bed.

“Thanks,” he says. She undoes the restraints as his wrists. He tugs his hand loose, turning it to see. _Gone._ The mark that was Phil’s name is not there. He thinks he stops breathing, he’s sure his heart has stopped beating. But then he takes in a breath and looks back up at Tasha.

She covers his hand with hers. “I’m so sorry, Clint.”

“How?” he croaks. His hand, his whole body is shaking now. The tears are right there, threatening to fall. He breathes in raggedly, trying to hold them off.

“Loki.” Her mouth is set in a hard line. He feels the guilt flooding through him. He was the one who lead the attack. He is…. She squeezes his hand, makes him look at her. “Don’t. Don’t do that to yourself, Clint. This is nothing we were trained for.”

Clint nods, but he still feels the guilt. Right now, he needs a purpose. “Loki, he got away?”

“Yeah, I don’t suppose you know where?”

“I didn’t need to know,” he shakes his head. “I didn’t ask.”

“We’re going to stop him,” she insists.

Clint looks around. “Yeah? Who’s we?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugs, gesturing. “Whoever is left.”

“Well, if I put an arrow in Loki’s eye socket….” He looks down at his hand. The god will pay. Clint will die making him pay. Tasha puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Now you sound like you. We’ll get him, Clint. For Phil.”

Clint pours all of his grief, his rage into his focus on Loki. He joins with the rest of the team. There’s even Captain FUCKING America and he wonders how much of a fanboy Phil turned into when they met. It tugs at his heart and he pours that into the fight. Tasha is by his side, goading him on. He is closer to happy when he sees Loki pancaked into the floor of the Tower. He points an arrow at Loki’s face eagerly.

Tasha talks him down from killing, promising him that the punishment awaiting Loki back on Asgard is worse than death. He lets her lead him away. He has a breakdown then. Tasha holds him as he sobs, body wracked with pain. He’s had sixteen years with Phil. It’s not enough, it will never be enough. He has to plan Phil’s funeral. They had the talk at the beginning of their relationship, he knows what Phil wanted. The next day, after they send Loki back with Thor, he goes to Fury.

“I want to see him,” he says after he’s blustered past Fury’s secretary.

“Barton, you were ordered to therapy. You’re not going in the field until you pass a psych eval,” Fury responds, never looking up.

“I’ll go when I’ve buried Phil. I have rights. He was my husband,” he seethes. “I want to see him.”

“You can’t. His body’s been classified Level 10. You will get it for the funeral.”

Clint wants nothing more than to jump over that desk and throttle Fury. But he knows that Phil wouldn’t want that. “He’d better fucking get a star on that god damn wall or so help me God. And you’d better not show your face.”

Fury still doesn’t look up. “Noted. Don’t forget to see the psychiatrist.”

Clint storms out, going straight for the range. He fires at targets imagining Fury’s face on them until Tasha comes to spar with him. They bury Phil two days later.  Clint takes some time alone with Phil’s body. There are fresh tears when he pushes aside the suit he chose to see that Phil’s mark is gone. His name is no longer there. Tasha makes him close the casket so they can go on with the ceremony. The team, minus Thor, is there. Pepper Potts comes up to him, offering him condolences. They share a moment because she knows he’s the infamous ‘cellist’. He personally supervises the installation of Phil’s star. Then he sees the SHIELD psychiatrist.

She doesn’t have a mark, isn’t even involved with anyone. She doesn’t get it. He rants and raves. He throws things. She gives him things to try, but it’s no use. He continues to spar with Tasha, it’s the better therapy for him. The psychiatrist does help some with the guilt. He wasn’t to blame for Phil’s death. He finally sees that and it sets off a fresh stage of mourning.

Ten days after Phil dies, Clint’s mark reappears.

He wakes up that morning, the ache in his heart not any better. He sees it when he starts to pour coffee into a mug. He drops both the mug and the carafe, not noticing the splash of coffee against his legs. There it is, scrawled across the fingers of his bow hand. But it isn’t dark green any more. It’s a light blue, ethereal looking.

Clint grabs the counter, shaking. Phil is alive. How?

He slides to the floor. He stares at the mark forever, tracing it with his other hand. Tasha finds him like that hours later.

“Clint?” she appears in the doorway, kneeling next to him in an instant. “You didn’t show for our daily spar, I got worried. What is it, Уважаемый одним из?” He holds his hand up and she takes it, gasping softly. “How is this possible? You saw his body. Why has it changed colors?”

“I don’t know, Tasha. I… he’s alive. I need to send a message. If… when I get a response with the correct reply I’ll know for sure.”

“Let me do this for you. Just tell me what to send,” she urges, standing and pulling him up. “You need to clean up, see if you have any burns.”

Clint nods to her, still in a haze. He can’t stop looking at the mark. “Use the Dubrovnik channel. Ask about karaoke. He’ll know what I mean.”

Tasha nods and goes to find his computer. He stands there, looking at the dried coffee on the floor, the shards of the mug. Phil is alive. He doesn’t know how, but Phil is alive. Fury. Fury is involved somehow. Clint harnesses that anger, the rage he had when Fury wouldn’t let him see Phil’s body. It’s because the body in the casket is not Phil – maybe a LMD - and Fury knew it. There is going to be hell to pay.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Phil is going through physical therapy when he gets the message. It has been sent to him via one of the very rarely used back channels he and Clint used. It’s Clint. He hasn’t read it, but he knows it. Then it clicks. The soul mark. Clint’s would have disappeared when he ‘died’. Phil’s first thought’s had been of Clint. But Phil was too stubborn, a little too vain to let Clint see him at first. He’s been waiting to be more mobile before he contacted Clint. It’s been two weeks and he’s been pushing himself. Now is as good a time as any.

Clint must be going crazy not knowing. The messenger, a younger agent, is waiting for his answer. “Do you need the reply right away?”

“The sooner the better, sir. I’m told the sender is… eager for an answer.”

Phil smiles, then laughs when he reads the message. After a quick chat with his physical therapist, he gestures to the agent. “Follow me to my office, I have the reply there.”

The younger man nods and they make their way slowly to Phil’s office. Once there he digs around in his desk, pulls out a copy of Johnny Rivers’s Greatest Hits – he has several – and hands it to the agent. “That’s the reply. Give them this too, please?” He scribbles a secure number on the back of a fake business card. The younger man nods, taking them and leaving. Phil leans back and closes his eyes. He doesn’t think it will be long before Clint responds.

A week later he gets a call at the secure number. “Hello,” he says, heart racing.

“God, it’s really you,” Clint’s voice is like coming home. He sounds relieved. “Phil. Fuck. Phil.”

“It’s me, Clint. I… it was the mark, wasn’t it?” He can feel the tears coming on.

Clint lets out a watery laugh. “Yeah, ten days after you supposedly died. I thought I was going insane.”

“I didn’t account for that,” Phil replies. He is glad he is sitting down, because he thinks he might fall down otherwise. “I miss you. I love you.”

“God, fucking love you too, Phil. Can we meet?” Clint sounds so eager, so desperate and it makes Phil hurt, more than it usually does.

“Yes. Georgia, you know the place. Two days,” he says.

He can practically hear Clint grinning. “I’ll order the usual. Extra hot wings.”

They hang up and Phil pushes aside the stack of paperwork to make arrangements to fly out to Georgia.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The jukebox is playing Dolly Parton, and Clint is never going to admit that he put in two dollars of quarters so that it would be playing a certain song around the time Phil walks in. He doesn’t count on Phil being early, so it’s “Jolene” that’s on but that’s okay. It’s really and truly Phil - walking a little slower, carrying himself a little stiffer - but Phil.

“Hey,” is all he can manage to say.

Phil reaches him, says “Hey,” back. Then Clint is pulling him in for a hug, kissing his cheeks and shedding tears. Phil pats his back, whispering soothing words into his neck. He sniffs, wipes at his eyes as he pulls back and guides Phil into a chair.

“God, Phil, you’re still recovering. Why?” he asks, reaching out to hold Phil’s hand.

“Because it was you,” he says, taking it and rubbing his thumb over the mark.  “I never should have waited. I don’t know why I forgot about the mark. I don’t know why Fury didn’t tell you.”

Clint grits his teeth. “Cause he’s a fucking bastard. Fury is not on my list of favorite people. He wouldn’t… I couldn’t see your body. I wanted – needed – to say goodbye and the bastard wouldn’t let me see you. I have half a mind to find him tomorrow and quit SHIELD.”

“Don’t.” Phil says it so quietly, Clint has to lean in to hear it. “Don’t. I… I need you, Clint. Not just as my husband, as my soul mate. I’m… I’m almost recovered. Another month and they’ll clear me for duty.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want, Phil?” The jukebox has switched to another song, the one Clint had wanted playing originally. Phil smiles at the cheesiness, giving Clint a fond look.

“It’s what I need. Fury’s given me a plane, the chance to form a team. I have the scientists, I know who I want for a pilot, but I’m lacking a specialist. Fury is pushing for someone, but there’s something there,” he shakes his head. He looks right at Clint, squeezing his hand. “I want you.”

Clint thinks about it. They’ve been together so long, but working on a team together? He looks, really looks at Phil. He thinks about the agony of the ten days he thought – knew- Phil was dead. He’s never going to be apart from him again. “We can tell Fury together. I want to see the look on the smug bastards face when he sees me walk in with you.”

“Thank you,” Phil breathes. “You can’t tell any of the others.”

“Tasha knows. She found me when it came back,” he gestures to the mark. “She helped me get the messages out. And I can’t avoid them altogether. I’ll need to show up from time to time.

“We’ll figure it out.” Phil strokes a finger over Clint’s fingers again. “I wonder why the color is different.”

Clint shrugs. “I was hoping you’d tell me.”

Their food comes and they enjoy each other’s company. Afterward, Clint takes him to a nearby hotel where they spend the night holding each other.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Phil has never seen Fury speechless. Until now. The day after his meeting with Clint, they both walk into Fury’s office. Nick has his nose buried in paperwork, as usual.

“What do you want, Phil? I’ve sent over more files for you to look at. You shouldn’t be here unless you’re telling me you’ve got the team in place.”

“I do, sir. But I thought you should meet my chosen specialist,” Phil stands there, looking and sounding his blandest. He tries not to let Clint’s smirk influence him at all.

Fury continues writing. “Grant Ward is a fine agent. Saw him at the Academy.”

“It’s not Ward, but you have met him before.”

It’s then that Fury finally looks up and his one eye goes very wide. Clint grins wider, adding a touch of menace to it as he waves the fingers of his marked hand, wiggling the name for Fury to see. Fury gapes, tries to say something but can’t seem to get the words out. Phil slowly crosses the room to stand right in front of the desk.

“Barton is coming with me. You owe me, Director. I will not go out there without him. Try and do anything about it and Romanoff will deal with you.” He says everything in an even tone, but he knows the implications are there.

“Fine,” Fury grits out. “Dismissed.”

Phil nods and turns to leave. He grabs Clint by the arm, leading him out. “Welcome to the team, Hawkeye.”

“Thanks. So when can we have the celebratory sex?”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Clint knows Melinda May, both by reputation and by sight. He’s worked with her once and he knows that Phil will get her to do more than pilot the plane. FitzSimmons are okay, for scientists. It’s a good thing Clint speaks science. Once they discover it, though, they offer to make him better arrows. He can’t say no to that. When they take in Skye, he’s wary. But he’s said it before: he knows a guy who’s big on second chances. She kind of becomes the daughter he and Phil never had - even disappoints them in her choice of men.

He’s the one who puts the bracelet on her. Both he and Phil stand there, glaring. He knows there will be no fourth chance and it will kill Phil to send her away. But she proves herself when Phil is taken. The damn _Clairvoyant_. If he never hears the name again it will be too soon. Even worse is dealing with Victoria Hand. She can’t seem to understand why Phil is so special. Even says it to his face. He buries the urge to throttle her. She kicks Skye off the plane. Clint looks to May, but understands her play and goes with it.

Skye comes through. They are in the desert in no time. Clint leaves May to deal with the soldiers. He needs to find Phil. Everyone is looking in every building of the deserted town. It’s the screams that get him. It’s Phil, but Clint has never heard anything like that come from his husband. He races towards the sound, cold running through his veins. If anything has happened….

He enters the building and is confronted by Raina. Phil is behind her, lying on a bed, head in a glowing machine. She glares at Clint.

“It’s for his own good,” she says, daring him to do anything. He punches her, knocking her out. He can hear Skye behind him. He goes to Phil, taking his hand.

“Please let me die. Please let me die,” Phil pleads. The words tear through Clint. He squeezes Phil’s hand.

“Phil, please, baby, can you hear me?”

Skye is at the side of the machine, trying to turn it off. May has appeared and she goes to the wall, unplugging it. Clint breathes better once it is off. He is crouching down, crooning to Phil.

“Phil, wake up, please be okay. Please be okay.” He uses his other hand to touch Phil’s face, stroke his hair. Phil opens his eyes and turns to look at Clint.

“Clint?” he rasps, voice hoarse from screaming.

“It’s me, baby. You’re safe. We’ve got you.” He leans up, presses a kiss to Phil’s forehead. He turns to May who nods. Skye just hovers. “Go fetch Simmons,” he says. She goes, leaving him there to comfort Phil. Simmons finds nothing physically wrong, other than minor cuts and bruises. May brings the car around and helps Clint get Phil into it. Once they are on the plane and Clint is alone with Phil, he lets the tears fall.

“God, Phil,” he breathes. “What did that bitch do to you?” They are lying in their bunk, Clint wrapped around Phil.

“What I asked her to,” Phil replies. “I needed to know, Clint.”

“Know what? What was so important that it left you screaming? Begging to die?” Clint shouts.

Phil swallows, waits for Clint to calm down. “What was done to me, after I died. Someone tried to make me believe I was only dead for a short time.”

“We both know that’s wrong,” Clint says, holding Phil closer.

“Yes.” Phil shudders in Clint’s arms. “What they did… it wasn’t just my heart they worked on, Clint. Fury ordered them to do it. One of the doctors said it was under his orders. They were messing with my brain. There was… it was awful.”

“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay, baby. I’ve got you,” Clint rocked Phil, stroking his back and pressing kisses into his hair. “Fury will pay. We’ll sic Tasha on him, okay?”

Clint rocks Phil until he falls asleep. It takes longer for Clint to reach that state. He’s too busy planning Fury’s demise.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The nightmares keep him awake. Phil sees the tentacled… thing above him, sending waves of pain through him while mucking around in his brain. Clint is there for him, like he’s always been. Phil doesn’t know how he deserves a man like that in his life. He can’t be sure he’s still the same man.

“You are, Phil, you are,” Clint assures him with a kiss.

“How can you be so certain?”

“Because you sang me Celine Dion when we reunited,” he smiles. Clint quiets any further with kisses and soft touches.

An op goes south and it ends with Ian Quinn in custody and Skye with a gut wound. They rush her to Zurich. Phil calls Fury when they get there, leaving Skye in the hands of the surgeons. Clint is there, silent support. They sit around, waiting. The doctor comes to the room, looking grim.

Phil steps closer, Clint right by his side. “How is she?”

“Not good,” the doctor says. “The shots perforated her stomach and penetrated the large and small intestines. We resected what we could but… there’s been too much damage.”

“So what’s next?” Phil asks. This can’t be the end. Skye is… he and Clint agree if they’d ever would have had kids, they would have been exactly like Skye.

“We can keep her comfortable. But you’ll need to make a decision whether or not you want to keep her on life support.”

“You’re saying there’s nothing to be done?” Clint’s hand is on Phil’s shoulder, squeezing hard.

The doctor looks sympathetic. “I’m saying you need to call her family. Get them here as soon as possible.”

“We’re her family,” Clint says. Phil is grateful for his husband at that moment. The words had been stuck in his throat, caught there by his emotions.

“In that case, I’m very sorry,” the doctor says. She leaves and Phil collapses in Clint’s arms. May stalks off and FitzSimmons hold onto each other. Phil mourns, but gathers himself enough to realize where May has gone. He and Clint stop her from killing Quinn, barely.

“He deserves to die, not her!” May argues.

“I agree,” Phil counters. “But right now, Quinn doesn’t matter. Only Skye does. And I need you to pilot the plane.”

May is seething and Phil hopes that Clint won’t have to try and put her down. He won’t win. “You heard what the doctor said,” she counters, pacing.

“She said there was nothing more they could do for her. But there are doctors who brought me back from the dead. If they can do that, I’m betting they can save Skye.” He’s also betting they’ll have the answers as to _how_ he came back and why the mark on Clint’s fingers is now blue.

*~*~*~*~*

Clint doesn’t even tell Phil about the call from HQ; he knows that Phil will want to keep Quinn aboard. He’s not entirely sure he agrees with Phil’s plan. He thinks it will cause Phil more pain, but Phil has always been stubborn. It’s one of the things Clint loves about him. He personally hands Phil’s file, the death and recovery file, over to FitzSimmons. If anyone can find out how Phil survived, it’s them. A person just doesn’t recover from a spear to the heart like that. There has to be more in the file.

Clint doesn’t like Garrett on principle. He should like the guy - they are both rule breakers after all - but there is something about the man that sets Clint’s teeth on edge. He could get to liking Trip though. He goes down to check on Skye while Phil deals with Garrett. Phil joins him later and they lean against each other in silence.

FitzSimmons come through leading them to something called ‘The Guest House’. Hacking their way in is easy enough - almost too easy. Clint is hyper aware of everything. Arrows will be no use in close quarters so he’s taken a gun. The men inside go down after a short fire fight. He, Phil and Garret go for the wounded one while Fitz deals with the power. The guard gives up nothing, but he seems to know Phil. Garret finds the explosives, and there is less than ten minutes left on their timer. They need to find this mysterious GH-325.

Clint follows Phil deeper into the facility. He’s on watch, ready to shoot anyone who comes between them and the answers. They come to a door marked ‘Viewing’. It’s open and they walk in. It looks over a surgery bay that seems to come straight out of a horror movie. Clint is there with a hand on Phil’s shoulder.

“God, Phil, is this…?” he asks, taking it all in, the dread and fear filling his body.

“Yeah. We need to keep looking.” Phil tears his gaze away, moving from Clint’s touch with purpose.

He sees Phil go into another room, one with a turn wheel for a handle. It’s marked ‘Biohazard Containment’. “Phil, are you sure you should…?” But Phil goes in. There’s another inner room, filled with shelves and other equipment. Clint knows they should probably be wearing suits before they go in, but Phil is a man on a mission. Phil begins looking around, searching. Clint takes the other side of the room. He finds the fridges.

“Phil, here, I don’t see any GH.” Phil comes over, they turn on the lights to the fridges. Clint spots the large container, it reminds him of something farmers put milk into. “This is it.”

Phil hands Clint some gloves, while he looks for the keys. Phil finds them and they open the fridge. Clint gets the container open, pulling out the small vial that is labeled 325. Fitz appears.

“Garrett says it’s time to go. We can’t get the timer to stop.”

Phil plucks the vial from Clint’s hands. “Take this up to Simmons.”

“But sir,” Fitz tries to protest but both he and Phil glare. Then Phil turns to him.

“I guess I can’t persuade you to go too, can I?”

Clint shakes his head. “Not a chance in hell. What are you looking for?”

Phil nods to another door, hidden behind some containers. There is lettering ton it as well. They move the containers to reveal it: T.A.H.I.T.I. Clint knows the answers are behind that door. The secrets behind GH-325, the reason why his mark is different.

“You don’t have to, Phil. We should go.”

“I need to, Clint. You have my back?”

Clint just nods. They open the door. Phil finds a light, flips it on. Clint spies more vials, all labeled and numbered. There are tubes feeding into them. Phil follows the smaller tubes back to bigger ones, curling and winding all over the floor. The bigger tubes feed into an outlet in the wall. Next to the outlet is a door that seems to lead to some kind of vault. Phil looks to Clint. Clint says and does nothing. This is Phil’s chase.

Phil presses a red button and the vault door hisses open. A large cylindrical container emerges. Inside is blue fluid, submerged in the fluid…. Clint nearly gags. It’s not human. Not any alien that Thor has ever told them about. And it’s only half there – its body below the middle abdomen is simply missing. The tubes are running into the alien, right up into its upper torso. Phil is staring at the thing, speechless.

Clint tugs at Phil. “Come on, we’ve got to stop Fitz! Phil, this place is going to blow and Simmons is going to inject that stuff into Skye!”

“Oh God, no, they can’t… Skye.” Phil turns and runs. Clint follows. They barely make it onto the plane as it takes off. They are yelling, not sure anyone is hearing them. They get to the med pod and Simmons has the needle poised above Skye’s stomach.

“Simmons! Don’t!” Phil yells, lunging to swat the needle out of her hand. Trip catches him, trying to stop Phil, but not before the needle drops to the floor.

“But sir! She’s dying!” Simmons yells. The monitor above the bed is going crazy and Skye is convulsing.

“It’s better this way, trust me. If you’ve ever loved Skye, don’t pick that needle back up,” Clint begs.

Everyone watches as Skye falls back onto the bed. The monitor shows a flat line. She’s gone. Simmons is sobbing. Trip reaches up and turns off the monitor. Clint nods his thanks. He gathers Phil close, his own tears now falling. They all stand there mourning the girl who had become their family. He and Phil hold onto each other tightly that night. Skye was the closest thing they had to a child.

With a quick note to Stark, to keep Fury and SHIELD out of it, Clint gets papers drawn up for an official name change. They bury her quietly, in the plot that had been Phil’s. A tombstone shows up that reads Skye Barton-Coulson. Clint thinks they have Nat to thank for it. There is no more time to mourn after that. There are more questions to be answered.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Fury is dead. Maybe. But so is the Clairvoyant, or should Phil say Garrett? SHIELD is in tatters. He’s not even sure he wants to resurrect it. The organization has offered nothing but pain to him. The one good thing SHIELD did was lead him to Clint. The answers to his questions are floating out there, just waiting for him to find.

Stark offers them a chance to work for him. Stark, along with the rest of the Avengers, are starting up their own organization. Captain Rogers is off on his own search. Phil is lost. So he turns to the only light left in his world, Clint.

“What do you think?” he asks, holed up in their apartment.

“I think we should rest. We’ve been going non-stop for what seems like forever. We need to take some time, Phil,” Clint responds. He’s not wrong. Phil is tired. Emotionally, physically, mentally.

“Yes, we should. Then we work for Stark. HYDRA is still out there. The other answers are out there.”

“It’s a start,” Clint agrees.

*~*~*~*~*~*~

It takes a little over a year, but FitzSimmons and Darcy Lewis find Phil his answers. Their report is sitting in front of him at the kitchen table. He’s staring at it, glass of scotch in his hand, waiting. Waiting for Clint to come home. Clint and Natasha are out dealing with a dead man. Natasha knows that Fury faked his death and once things calm down some, she and Clint go after him. Clint sent a text this morning, saying they were coming home. So Phil waits, staring at the file with his answers, waiting. He hears the front door open, Clint’s voice loud and happy drifting to him.

“So he just shouts, ‘I found it’ and comes back like nothing has happened. But we all heard the shot, so we get our asses into the room and see the floor _covered_ in this goo that was once Garrett.” Natasha laughs and they round the corner to see Phil sitting there. Clint is instantly by his side.

“Phil, babe, what is it?” he asks, crouching down to look at Phil.

Phil taps the report with a finger. “They did it. The answers are there.”

“Have you read it?” Tasha asks, sitting across from Phil. Clint gets up and sits next to Phil.

“I did,” Phil says as Clint takes the report. “It’s… not what I was expecting.”

“Give us the highlights,” Tasha urges.

Phil sips some scotch, feeling it burn before he does. “The alien, it was in The Fridge. As far as they can tell it had been there since the beginning. Maybe before. Records from ’43 are spotty at best.”

“That thing was found in ’43?” Clint asks, eyes wide.

“Maybe earlier,” Phil comments, taking another sip of scotch. “There are mentions of Doctor Erskine there. FitzSimmons thinks he may have used some of the blood to help him develop the super soldier serum, but they have no absolute proof of that.”

Tasha frowns. She takes the report from Clint, flipping through it. “Any idea where the alien came from?”

“A possible crash landing in Germany. The SSR kept those things covered up; encouraged the conspiracy theories. HYDRA may have had it for awhile; they can’t say for sure. But they are certain there aren’t any more like it out there.”

“So Fury was trying to make more Captain America’s?” Clint asks.

“We all know how well that worked out before,” Tasha scoffs.

Phil nods, fiddling with his glass. “I know; I had to deal with Blonsky. But the various phases of the GH serum, they had different applications.”

“325?” Clint ventures.

“Healing only. I hope,” Phil answers. “Simmons is still trying to study the effects. I’ve been giving her blood regularly. She’s like a vampire.”

“Why did Fury do it? Why put you through all of this?” Clint is angry, frustrated.

“He needed me in the field. I think he knew about Hydra long before he let on. I was his best agent, and I could get to the root of the problem.” Phil shrugs, contemplating his drink. “That, or he really is just a sick bastard.”

Clint scoots closer, throwing an arm around Phil. He leans into the embrace. Phil closes his eyes and prays to the universe that he will live the rest of his life normally.  He sits up, finishes his scotch and looks at both Tasha and Clint.

“If you’re here then I guess….”

“It’s done,” Tasha says.

Phil nods. The empty grave Fury left behind is likely not so empty anymore. Phil knows better than to ask. Instead he pushes back from the table, standing. “How about some dinner? I’ll make stir-fry.”

“Sounds great, babe.” Clint catches his hand, kisses it. Tasha watches them fondly.

She props her elbows onto the table, resting her chin in her hands. “So tell me how Garrett died again.” Her smile is wide.

Clint grins and launches into the well-told story. “So. We left his body there, because no one was smart enough to check for a pulse.”

Phil gathers up pans and ingredients. It will take a while for it all to make sense to him. But he is happy, healthy and he has Clint. It will be enough for now.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Years later, Phil leaves the field. Simmons finally determined that the GH-325 will not extend his life, and he’s not getting any younger. There are still nightmares, but they manage. He and Clint adopt several kids - older ones who are having trouble. They set up a memorial fund in Skye’s name. Clint eventually passes on the Hawkeye name to one of the troubled teens they both mentor: a girl called Kate Bishop. They spend the rest of their days raising their kids, interacting with other Avengers’ families. They even have grand kids. Clint absolutely does not cry when the first one calls him Papa. Phil absolutely doesn’t either.


End file.
